Save Me
by austria13
Summary: Hellhounds have ruined Dean's body, but what happens when Castiel saves his soul and sends it to Heaven? Destiel, set after Season 3...but kind of just somewhere. This is my first fic, so concrit is welcome, but please make sure it's constructive!
1. Chapter 1

Hello ducklings!

So this is my first fic ever, and it starts off kind of bloody and weird (sorry!). I will do my best to post on a regular-ish basis, but school has just started so no promises.

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Dean's face is contorted in agony but he refuses to cry out, instead choosing to bite through his own bottom lip until it bleeds. The savage roars of the Hellhounds are all he can hear, and not even the fact that he will surely die makes him sadder than the fact that these roars, of all things, will be the last things he'll hear on this earth. The hellhounds are raking his sides and chest with those invisible, razor-sharp claws, and he twists back and forth as much as he could to try and escape, but still he refuses to cry out. Of course, he can't move very much due to the demon standing on his wrists. She's already trapped his legs under an overturned desk.

It was his own fault, really. He and Sammy found a lead on a case in the small town of West Purpose, Nebraska. It was standard stuff, a couple murders, family members acting weird. Sam and Dean figured it to be a low-level demon or two, and went to talk to the sheriff about the recent crimes, playing their standard FBI roles. Sam suddenly came down with a weird case of food poisoning or something, so Dean headed into the sheriff's office alone. The sheriff was a beautiful woman, even in her uniform: all curves, tanned skin, wavy black hair, and gleaming white teeth. Dean put the moves on her, and she slammed and locked the door, then threw herself on him and glued her mouth to his. Dean was enjoying himself immensely…until she pulled away for air…and her eyes turned black. Dean tried to fight her grip, but she just laughed. She threw him on the ground and shoved the heavy wooden sheriff's desk on top of his legs, shattering the bones. Then she whispered in his ear, "This is for Ruby," and opened the window to let her pets in.

The Hellhounds are still ripping ruts in his body when the door to the sheriff's office flies open. Castiel appears in the doorway, his ice blue eyes filled with the kind of anger that is the size of a glacier, and just as cold. The woman barely has time to open her mouth before Castiel slams his hand on her forehead and exorcises her, sending the Hellhounds with her. Only when that is done can Castiel look at Dean, the man he betrayed Heaven for, and the sight makes his eyes widen in shock and despair. Even connected to Heaven, there is no way Castiel can heal those kinds of injuries. He squats, takes Dean's bloody hand and presses it to his forehead, only to hear a broken voice stutter, "C-C-Cas...I…I-I'm—" Dean is forced to break off as a coughing fit wracks his frame and blood spurts from his mouth onto his chin and ravaged chest.

Cas lays his hand on Dean's forehead and gently lowers his head to the floor. "Do not speak. Dean, these injuries are beyond my ability to heal," he says, with his trademark low growl. "I'm sorry."

"S-Some angel you ar—" Dean's attempt at a joke is once again interrupted by a bloody cough.

"Just close your eyes," Cas tells him, hand still on Dean's forehead.

"No," Dean replies hoarsely, "I'm dying with my eyes open. I want to see this goddam world."

"Dean, close your eyes. I will not ask again," Cas's serious tone is accompanied by a subtle undertone of a threat.

"Fuck you, Cas…fine. Just…please…make it stop hurting." Dean complies with Castiel's command as the angel obliges his whispered request, laying a faintly glowing, cool hand on Dean's shredded, crimson chest. Dean sucks in a shuddering breath as the all-encompassing pain vanishes, replaced by a soft, warm glow. Slowly, it grows brighter, and Dean begins to smell basil and lavender as the glow envelops him completely.

* * *

What feels like a lifetime later, Dean opens his eyes to that same bright white glow he experienced before he died. Squinting, he sits up, only to realize that he's not floating in the clouds or some weird touchy-feely crap like that, but lying in a park next to a kids' playground. _What the hell is this_, he thinks to himself as he stands up and stretches. "Holy crap!" Dean exclaims aloud, when the usual wave of stiffness and a bit of pain (picked up from years of hard living) doesn't come. An idea comes to him, and he rolls up the sleeves of his beat-up green shirt—wait, since when is he wearing a shirt that isn't torn into little tiny shreds by Hellhound claws?—to look at his arms and hands.

"Oh my God," Dean whispers to himself, staring at the flawless condition of his skin. Gone are the scars from years of drunken fighting, carelessness, and, of course, hunting. The scar on his right palm from juggling knives when he was fifteen? Gone. The cigarette burn on his left forearm from a bar fight three years ago? Gone. The scar on his left pinky from the time a skinwalker nearly tore it off? Gone. A goofy grin breaks across Dean's face. "Man, I'm hot!" he calls out…to no one. Suddenly, it strikes him: why does it matter if he is renewed and unblemished again if no hot girls can see him? _Well, goddammit_, he thinks to himself, a scowl suddenly scrunching his features.

Dean wished he had a can to kick around or something, but, of course, the park was completely and utterly litter-free. It was like they had gotten rid of all the earthly impurities they could think of. Suddenly, a thought struck him. He pulled down the sleeve of his shirt—yep, the handprint scar that Castiel had left on Dean was still there. _Well_, thought Dean, _I guess they only got rid of the earthly scars, not the heavenly one. Weird._

Dean decides to explore a little. He walks away from the empty playground, towards a—oh god, is that a freaking _meadow_? It is the afterlife, after all, Dean supposes, but a meadow? That is just too cliché for words. Regardless, Dean walks toward the expanse of green, dotted here and there by patches of real, honest-to-god _wildflowers_. Dean has to suppress his gag reflex as he looks at the picturesque view. _This is just…too much_, Dean thinks to himself. Nevertheless, he lies down in the long, soft grass next to a patch of purple flowers and looks up at the sky.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean yelps and scrambles to his feet, fists raised in a boxer's stance, before realizing that it's Cas standing before him. Dean lets out a big sigh and flops back down on the grass, saying, "Jesus, Cas, don't do that to me."

"I am sorry for scaring you," the angel replies in his usual deadpan tone.

"You-you didn't scare me, Cas, just startled me is all," Dean replies defensively, knowing full well that Cas had scared him.

"There's a difference?" the angel asks blankly, head tilted just a little to the side.

Dean sighs, knowing he has been caught. "Just shut up, Cas, and tell me where I am."

"How can I shut up and tell you where you are at the same time?" the angel asks infuriatingly.

Dean growls, "Just tell me where the hell I am, Castiel. I'm dead, right? But this definitely is not hell."

"That is correct," says the angel, in his low voice.

"Well, would you mind telling me where I am, then?" Dean asks sarcastically, beginning to get frustrated.

"No, I would not mind at all." Dean rolls his eyes when, as usual, Castiel fails to pick up on his sarcasm. "You are in heaven."

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Eeps! It's up! No going back now...please tell me what you thought! Cheers!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two is here…a bit angstier and sadder than I was expecting. Hope you enjoy!

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For a few moments, Dean is too flabbergasted to speak "So…I'm in heaven?" he finally asks, confused. "How the he—oh, I can't say that here, can I? Anyway, how the heck did I get into heaven?! I mean, of all people, me?!"

"I brought you here," Castiel says simply.

"So I'm dead."

"Well," the angel replies, looking uncomfortable, "not exactly."

"Well, then, what the hell am I?" Dean bursts out.

"Dean, please, you're in heaven. Don't blaspheme," Castiel tells him.

"I don't give a good goddamn about that right now, Cas, I need you to explain some things to me," Dean tells the angel as he pokes him in the chest to emphasize his words.

"Ow," Castiel says, rubbing his chest where Dean poked him—hard. "It is a kind of loophole," the angel begins to explain to Dean when he is interrupted.

"What kind of loophole do you mean?" asks the hunter.

"If you would, in your words, 'shut the hell up' and listen to me, then I could explain." The angel sits down in the grass.

Dean sits next to him. "All right, all right, I'm sorry. Just get it over with."

"As you wish. Dean, there is a spell in ancient Enokian that I used to help you. When I found you, you were dying—"

"You don't say," the hunter interjects with a smartass roll of his eyes.

"Dean, if you interrupt me again, I will remove your vocal cords until I have finished explaining." Dean gulps, hand going to his throat, and nods. "As I was saying, you were dying, and I could not heal your injuries, even at full power. After exorcising the demon who unleashed the Hellhounds upon you, I remembered a spell. There is an old Enokian spell that is used at moments like that. Its usage is very rare, because the conditions have to be just right. The subject of the spell must be dying from severe wounds, not disease or old age. They must be just on the brink of death, but not quite dead. Their wounds must have been caused by a demonic force, be it a demon themselves or demonic creatures, like Hellhounds or Harpies. And, finally, there must be an angel present. As you can imagine, these conditions present themselves maybe once in a millennium."

"Wow," Dean whistles. "That's pretty serious, then. So, if I'm not actually dead…"

"That is the point of the spell, Dean," Castiel explains, "The spell sends your soul up to heaven while your body is repaired."

"I thought you said you couldn't heal my wounds," Dean asks quizzically.

"I could not heal them fast enough to keep you alive."

"Oh." Dean didn't really know how to respond to that. "So…where's my body?"

"You…probably do not want to see it right now," Castiel responds, shifting uncomfortably. He knows Dean will want to see himself, and he really doesn't want to see the crestfallen look on Dean's face when he saees his mangled body.

"Cas, I kind of really do," Dean replies, an undertone of a growl sneaking into his voice. "Cas, take me to my body."

Castiel exhales, then closes his eyes and presses his fingers to Dean's forehead. An instant later, they open their eyes in the middle of a hospital. Silently, Castiel starts walking through the hospital, trusting his link to Dean's body to guide him to where it lies. No one notices the two men, one black-haired with violently blue eyes, one with sparkling green eyes and sandy hair, as they walk swiftly and purposefully towards the ICU. Five minutes after they arrive, Dean and Castiel stand outside a closed hospital room with the shades drawn.

Dean steels himself, then walks through the door—he is a spirit, after all—only to stop and stare in shock at his body. Sammy is sitting next to the bed in which the mangled shell lies, reading over the doctor's report. His red and puffy eyes give away his recent crying, but Dean restrains himself from making his usual comment about Sam being a girl. Firstly, Sam wouldn't be able to hear him anyway, and second of all, Dean's own eyes are beginning to burn with tears at the sight of himself.

The first thing Dean looks at is his legs, because he knows he will have to prepare himself more before he can take a closer look at his torso. The bones in his legs hve been completely shattered by the heavy desk—a phantom pain runs through Dean's legs at the memory—and are entirely encased in plaster casts. Both his wrists were also broken by the demon standing on them. Dean is too distracted by his body to even notice the hot, blonde nurse who comes in the room to check the many machines that are hooked into Dean's body. Finally, Dean works up the nerve to look at his upper body—and immediately wishes that he hadn't.

The claws of the Hellhounds definitely did their job—Dean's torso is completely destroyed. His chest has been so ripped into shreds by the demonic dogs that basically his entire chest is skin grafts. The X-Rays hanging above the bed show that nearly every one of his ribs was broken, and his left lung has been punctured. His spleen was ruptured, too, but luckily his main organs—heart, liver, stomach—seem to have escaped really serious damage. His face, however, is a different story: stitches hold together one long, deep slash that travels from his hairline all the way down to his jaw, and numerous other, smaller scratches threaten to permanently scar Dean's strong, handsome features. _Thank God_, Dean thinks to himself when he notices that neither of his eyes had been punctured, but—although the breathing apparatus in his body's mouth makes it difficult to tell—he is pretty damn sure his nose is broken.

The first words Dean can form in his head are _Holy fuck_. He slides down the wall until he is sitting on the floor, then his head falls forward into his hands and he tries not to cry. Suddenly, he hears a soft fluttering of wings and feels someone at his side. "I am sorry, Dean," Castiel says in a low, husky growl that is nearly a whisper, "I told you that you would not want to see it."

"Yeah, yeah, spare me the 'told you so' talk, if you don't mind," Dean whispers brokenly. He is crying and dammit, he isn't going to hide it. For a few long minutes, the beeps of the various monitors are the only sounds in the room. Then Dean raises his head, angrily swiping at his eyes, and hoarsely thanks the angel, "Cas, thanks for getting me up to heaven before I died for real. I couldn't stand it if I had to go back down in the Pit."

Castiel doesn't know quite how to respond to this, and instead asks, "Would you like to return to Heaven, now?" Dean nods, hurt beyond words, and lets Cas pull him up and press his fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean closes his eyes and waits for Cas to make it all right, to take him back to the beautiful, peaceful garden.

Dean feels a slight rushing, a bit like he's standing between two cars passing him, and he opens his eyes to see the most beautiful thing he can imagine right now. Castiel is standing next to his baby, his black '67 Impala, holding a bacon cheeseburger from that diner in Saint Louis. It's all too much for Dean, and he sinks to his knees and starts to cry, only he can't tell whether he's crying from happiness or sadness. All of a sudden, he feels arms come hesitantly around his shoulders and jerks away, but then realizes that Castiel's arms are surprisingly comforting and so he lets himself sink back into Castiel's embrace and just cry.

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What did you think? Please R&R! Third chapter is written, just need to review and possibly lengthen it, then I will post!

Cheers!


	3. Chapter 3

Hello cupcakes!

So this chapter is way, way shorter than I would have liked, but oh well. I'm still not sure where this story is taking me yet!

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Dean wakes up feeling strangely refreshed. He sits up and realizes he is in a bed, dressed in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday. He takes a deep breath and sits up, and sees the meadow. Castiel is sitting at a table, set for two people, with two huge dishes on it. One holds bacon cheeseburgers, the other Dean's favorite microbrew. Dean smiles and shakes his head at how well the angel knows him as he swings himself out of bed.

"Good morning, Dean," Castiel says politely as Dean pulls out a chair and flops himself into it.

"Hey, Cas," Dean replies, "you know you're the freaking best for doing all this, right?" He grabs a burger and cracks open a beer. "Cheers, man," he toasts his guardian angel. It's incredible how well the angel knows him, really. His favorite beer, favorite food, and—no way, Cas even went back down to Earth to grab Dean's leather jacket. At this last, Dean's heart warms more than a little, and a warm, happy feeling begins to spread through his stomach. He hasn't felt like this since he was with Cassie, I mean _really_ with her, all those years ago, and it's a good feeling to have. Then he blinks and realizes that this is _Castiel_ that he's getting that feeling for. Innocent—well, in _that_ way, anyway—deadpan, angelic, _male_ Castiel. And he snaps out of it, gaze focusing back on the angel's wide blue eyes, and clears his throat. "Cas, man," he says, mouth full and voice deeper than necessary, "grab a burger."

"Dean, you know full well that I do not need to eat."

"Just 'cause you don't need to doesn't mean you shouldn't," the hunter counters, swinging his booted feet up on the table and leaning back in his chair. "These burgers are better than sex."

Castiel's eyes widen a bit at that, but he reaches across the table to grab a burger anyway. He bites into it, and Dean tries not to notice the way his jaw tightens when he chews, and the way his eyes widen at the taste when he says "Oh—wow. That is really all I can think of to say. These were definitely worth the trip to Saint Louis."

Dean suddenly chokes as his bite of burger goes down the wrong pipe, and hacks for a few minutes until his airways are clear again. "You—you went to the diner in Saint Louis for these?!" he asks incredulously.

"Yes," Cas replies steadily, "and I brought back the Impala and your leather jacket in the same trip."

Dean looks to his left and sees his baby, and all of a sudden is struck by the size of what Cas is doing for him. "Cas, I—" he begins, then stops, not knowing what to say.

"It's okay, Dean," the angel says quietly, laying his hand over Dean's. "I understand." And in that one tiny gesture, indicating comfort, understanding, acceptance, and everything that Dean has been searching for his whole life. Dean understands that because of the bonds they share, Castiel knows him inside and out, probably better than Dean himself knows, because he is usually too afraid to look.

But with that one phrase, one gesture, the knot Dean has held inside of himself for his whole life loosens just a little bit.

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What did you think? Please R&R!


	4. Chapter 4

Hi munchkins!

So I wrote this entire chapter the other night and was about to post it, but my computer shut down on me and I had to rewrite the entire thing :P Also, I had Indian last night and it was delicious, so that's where that part came from. Anyway, enjoy!

**WARNING: this chapter gets extremely graphic!**

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"Cas, I'm bored."

Dean's been in Heaven for four months. He hasn't done anything useful in that entire time, except check up on Sammy a few times. Once he found out that Castiel hadn't told his brother that he was relatively safe, he made the angel leave his brother a note saying that Dean would be okay. Dean watched Sam read the note and saw the wave of relief wash across his face. After Sam found out his big brother was okay, he went back to hunting, enlisting the help of a few family friends and checking up on Dean every few days.

But apart from that, Dean has done nothing for four months except watch some TV, explore Castiel's slice of Paradise, and talk to the angel.

And the last part is the only thing that's kept him sane through the whole ordeal. Dean's grown to really, really like talking to the angel, who is surprisingly entertaining once you slip past the guarded exterior. He's even begun to flash a few smiles, and Dean loves how his eyes light up when the hunter tells him something new about himself. But Dean's feelings for the angel are complicated and confusing. Castiel has saved him twice now, and Dean's feelings for him are more than just gratitude. The hunter loves to look at Cas's bright blue eyes, loves the way he runs his hand through his messy black hair, and loves the tight, lean muscles showcased by Cas's new wardrobe of jeans and T-shirts. But Dean has always been straight as a board. He keeps telling himself that he's not attracted to guys, no way, but then Cas will run that hand through his already messy hair again, and flash the hunter a smile, and Dean knows he's lying to himself.

But right now, Dean's not allowing himself to be distracted by the turmoil of emotions he feels toward the angel. He wants food.

"Cas, I never thought I'd say this, but…I'm sick of eating burgers. It's all I've eaten for four freakin' months."

"Okay, Dean, then what would you like?" Castiel responds, ever the accommodating host.

"Dude, at this point, I couldn't really care much less. As long as it's delicious."

"I think I know just the place," the angel replies in his gravelly tones.

A whoosh and a flutter later, and Dean hears a low mumble of voices and an almost indistinguishable tinkle of music in the background. He opens his eyes and sees that they're in an Indian restaurant.

"Welcome. Table for two?" A tall, handsome Indian man comes over to the hunter and the angel, and the angel nods. "Follow me, please," the man says, then heads off into the restaurant. Dean and Castiel follow, Dean looking around to attempt to see where exactly they are.

Once they're seated at their table, the two pick up their menus and peruse them. Dean's curiosity gets the better of him, and he asks, "Cas, where are we? The guy could see us, so we're not on Earth."

"No, we're not," the angel replies distractedly.

Dean hates when he does this. "Mind telling me where we are, then?" the hunter asks through his teeth.

"Not at all," the angel replies, blue eyes barely flicking up to meet Dean's green ones. "We're still in Heaven. Angels can come here to do business with other angels or converse with souls to whom they find themselves particularly close."

Dean ponders that for a second. "So, you would consider us 'particularly close'?" His heart rises in his throat at the thought.

"Well, yes, Dean," the angel finally looks at him, seemingly confused. "Wouldn't you?"

Dean smiles and nods, then looks back at the menu.

* * *

Several delicious courses later, Dean is ready to leave. But Castiel has a sweet tooth, as Dean has discovered, and wants dessert. Dean rolls his eyes as the angel orders something, and soon their waiter appears with a bowl of ice cream with two spoons. Cas grabs one of the spoons, carves out a huge bite of the dessert, and—

Oh, _shit_. The way Castiel's lips close around the spoon… the way his jaw clenches—it's _unholy_. Dean grabs the angel's arm and nearly growls, "Cas. Can we go?"

Castiel's eyebrows come together in concern, and Dean is touched by the affection he sees in his angel's eyes. "Of course, Dean," the angel replies, and Dean closes his eyes, then reopens them to find the two of them sitting on the hunter's bed in the middle of the meadow.

Dean lets his head fall into his hands and takes deep breaths, trying to calm the hard-on that's just growing bigger by the moment. He starts when he feels a hand come around his shoulder, and Cas asks, "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean's head is such a mess that he doesn't even think.

"Fuck it," Dean whispers, almost to himself, then grabs Castiel's T-shirt and crushes their lips together in a hungry kiss, full of need and gratitude and want and everything Dean has begun to feel towards Cas since the angel brought him to Heaven. Just as suddenly, Dean pulls himself away and opens his eyes to the sight of Castiel's before him looking as though something precious has been taken from him. "This…this is okay, right, Cas? I mean, we're not sinning or anything with this, are we?"

The angel shakes his head, then speaks, his growl deeper than usual, "God wants all of his children to be happy with whomever they want."

"Thank God for that—literally," Dean smiles at his own attempt at a joke, then barely has time to suck in a breath before Cas's lips are crushed against his again. And holy fuck, can the angel kiss. For a second, Dean wonders where an angel learned to kiss like that, but that thought is quickly swept away on a rising tide of desire. Dean softly moans, and Castiel—can he really be an angel if he can do these things with his tongue?—takes advantage of the moment to begin exploring Dean's mouth with his tongue. Dean groans—again—and his tongue meets the angel's in a fight for dominance. Dean pulls away for air, trademark smirk on his face and idea in his head, only to see Castiel's ice-blue eyes darkened closer to sapphire with pure lust. "Cas—" Dean whispers huskily, only to be interrupted by Castiel's lips once again melded to his.

"Dean," Cas growls deeply into the other man's lips, "get on the bed. Now." Dean agrees wholeheartedly with this sentiment and backs up until his knees hit the bed, never breaking his contact with the angel's lips. Castiel groans as he falls on top of Dean and he feels the younger man's lips leave his own and begin licking and biting their way along his jawline, sure to leave marks. Dean reaches the angel's earlobe, and Cas's eyes roll back into his head as the hunter gently nips it, then soothes the half-pain with rough licks like a cat's tongue.

"Holy fuck, Cas," Dean grunts as Cas, slight though he is, flips them over so Dean is on his back, wrists trapped above his head, and Cas is straddling his hips. Dean moans—loudly—as Cas shoves his T-shirt up over his chest and bites down hard on the toned muscle of his pectorals. His back arches and he gasps as Cas sucks at the injured flesh, soothing it with gentle flicks and swirls of his tongue. Dean sits up and pulls his shirt off, and Castiel quickly pushes him back down and attacks his smooth, toned chest again. Cas's attacks stop for a few moments so he can pull his own shirt off, then he slides off of Dean's hips so he can pull off the hunter's jeans and boxers. Dean gasps as his cock is exposed to the air, then can't remember to breathe when Castiel's warm breath sinks over his head. The hunter watches, barely breathing, as the angel's already-mussed black hair bobs up and down on his cock for a few minutes, then Castiel sits up to shuck off his own pants and underwear. His lips close over Dean's and Dean can taste himself on the angel's tongue, and oh, my, _God_ it's hot.

Then Dean stiffens and bites down on Cas's lower lip as the angel's finger begins to probe at his entrance. Slowly, gently, the angel works his finger into the hunter, kissing him all the while to keep from overwhelming him, then begins to work in a second finger. Dean moans against Castiel's lips and rocks his hips, inviting the intruding digits even deeper. Castiel growls in approval, then pushes his third finger into the hunter. Dean shudders, then whispers against his lover's lips, "Cas. Fuck me. Now."

Castiel detaches himself from Dean's lips, spits into his hand, and slicks himself. Slowly, he pushes into Dean. He doesn't want to hurt the hunter, and even though Dean's hands are wrapped around Castiel's shoulders, and his legs around his hips, he can see by the tightness on Dean's face that it's painful. Dean gasps as Castiel reaches down and grasps Dean. In time with his gentle thrusts, the angel stroked his hunter and Dean screamed Castiel's name as he came, then Castiel fell on Dean, captures his lips in a kiss as he comes inside his hunter.

Castiel pulls out and pulls Dean close to him. Dean kisses him, gently, then whispers, "Castiel…I think I love you."

* * *

There we go! It took me for-fucking-ever to write that whole thing over again . First time writing smut…I don't know how well it went hahah. Please R&R!


	5. Chapter 5

Hello lovelies!

I'm SO beyond sorry it's been so long! First I was stuck on a story line, and then my computer was busted so I couldn't work on it! Eep! Here is the next chapter!

Enjoy!

* * *

The sun is shining when Dean wakes up. He takes in a deep breath of the delicious scent of cedar, overlaid with a familiar smell, almost amber-like. He scrunches his eyes closed and snuggles closer into the body behind him, with an arm wrapped around him. Dean sighs contentedly and begins to fall back asleep. He's almost there when his green eyes snap open. He pops up into a sitting position, barely stopping to register that Castiel has woken up, too.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed onto the grass that is softer than carpet, gripping the edge of the bed tightly. He grits his teeth as he remembers the events of last night. _Get your shit together, Dean, _he tells himself. _You are _not_ gay_. But then why did last night feel so right, and so perfect? And why did he—oh God, he did—why did he tell Castiel those three little words? _I love you_. Dean can barely breathe. His head falls into his hands and he tries to sort everything out for about two seconds. But then, being Dean Winchester, he shoves these emotions down and gets up, throws his clothes on, and stalks off, ignoring Castiel's calls of his name.

Hours later, Dean finds himself in the middle of another field. He kind of just turned away from Castiel and all those weird emotions and walked. And then kept walking. There isn't really much around the field, just a few pine trees, a couple patches of blue wildflowers. Dean lies down on a patch of clover and stares at the sky. But soon the color of the sky drips into a pair of blue eyes in front of Dean's face. So he closes his eyes. But then he smells cedar and amber, and feels deliciously warm, soft—but aggressive—lips on his, and his eyes fly open again. He pulls himself into a sitting position and his hands cradle his head again.

"Cas," he whispers throatily. "Castiel. I…I think I need you. I'm sorry. Please."

A moment passes, and Dean doesn't think he's coming, but then comes the familiar flutter. Dean's eyes slide to his right, and Castiel is sitting cross-legged next to him.

"Cas, I—"

"What do you want, Dean?" the angel interrupts tonelessly, staring blankly into the distance.

"Cas, I need to talk to you," the hunter says, voice low and husky.

"We had sex and you said you loved me, Dean, and then in the morning you ran away. What is there to talk about?" Castiel replies, and the worst part of it is that he's not even angry. Dean can deal with angry, and he has plenty of times before, but he doesn't know how to handle the gulf of pain and hurt that he knows Cas is hiding behind his blank stares.

And despite what everyone says, despite being the master of emotional repression, Dean knows what to do. He slowly scoots closer to his angel, and gently takes his hand. Castiel flinches at the contact, but doesn't pull away. "Cas…" Dean quietly begins, voice barely more than a whisper, "…you know me better than anyone, even Sam. You know how completely shit I am at anything involving emotions. I'm sorry. I was scared. Please…please don't be mad at me. I was confused, and I don't know what's going on in my head, and…I'm sorry. Please believe that." Castiel's eyes flick onto Dean, then away again. "Please, Cas. I need you. I am so sorry for hurting you. Please. Please believe me."

Castiel's silence stretches for a long minute, and Dean is terrified that he won't respond at all. "Dean…" the angel finally relents, pain breaking through into his voice, "I don't know if I can. I've seen you with women before. I know how you are."

"Cas, please," Dean pleads, terrified that the angel will think that he's just another of Dean's flings. "You're different. I swear. I…I've..." he breaks off, not sure of what to say. _Fuck,_ he shouts at himself, _what do I even say here? I've never even been in this situation before, let alone with a—a guy_. And he hates himself for that thought, aware that Castiel is so far beyond human that gender doesn't even apply, but for his whole life, he's been straight as an arrow. He takes a deep breath, and continues in a rush, "Cas, this whole thing is new to me. I…I've never felt this way about anyone before, and much less a guy, and I know that, well, you're not really a guy, but Jimmy is, and I don't—" He stops, and breathes slowly. "Cas, I think I do love you. And I know that it's hard, but I need you to believe it." He takes the angel's hand, Cas jerking at the contact, and holds it tightly between his large, rough palms. "Please," he whispers.

Again, it seems like Castiel won't respond, but finally, he breaks into a rare smile and looks at Dean. "Okay." And it's enough for now.

* * *

What did y'all think? R&R, please!

Please don't hate me for taking so long to update, I feel so bad about it!

Love you, ducklings!


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